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The moment I moved into my apartment, with its high walls and its cool stone, I found myself very content, and very ready to get to grips with Bolivia. The halfway point of my time was fast approaching; a disturbing fact given how much there still is to be done here.
I had come to Sucre to work with Condortrekkers, a non-profit tourist agency that uses all of its profits to fund other social work programs in the city. It is a simple idea but with brilliant possibilities. The local guides are paid but the bulk of the work is done by volunteers, which keeps costs down and ensures the organisation is self-sustaining.
When I arrived Randall, the director of Condortrekkers, was stuck deep in the convolutions of Bolivian bureaucracy, awaiting the official registration of the organisation. The laziness and recalcitrance of the Sucre officials is infuriating. Randall was told, for instance, that he could operate as a non-profit organisation, but he couldn’t advertise this fact, as it would place him at an unfair advantage over the other tourist agencies that keep the profits for themselves (and most of whom have friends in high and official places).
There are plenty of volunteers eager to work with Condortrekkers, but until the organisation is up and running, it is mostly just Randall and I. My job will be to research and write promotional material and information for the tours. I’ll also be going on exploratory treks as we try to finalise the actual routes of the various treks. It is a great job to have. Be prepared for a barrage of re-hashed snippets of information to appear on this blog…
The only problem is that I only have a tourist visa, which expires and requires renewal every thirty days, and which will require me to leave the country briefly in February to start the process over again. On my paltry tourist visa I am not allowed to work, to study, or to volunteer. To upgrade to a volunteer visa would take medical checks, Interpol background checks, months of waiting, and hundreds upon hundreds of Bolivianos. And even then I wouldn’t be able to function as a tour guide.
So instead of beating my head against a bureaucratic wall, I return to a life of illegality, living beyond the mandate of my tourist visa. Three years ago I worked as a pirate English teacher in Madrid, receiving under-the-table cash for teaching civil servants. Now I find myself a pirate volunteer; a do-gooder pirate but a pirate none-the-less. There is no avoiding destiny (especially when it is an enjoyable destiny).
In the week approaching the referendum something happened to Sucre; its prettiness was clouded over. In part it was the torrential weather, but in larger part it was the vehemence of local opposition to the new constitution, and anything else that Evo attached his name to. It was also in part due to the fact that I still had no apartment, and could feel my time leeching away in the futile search for housing.
The No campaign shouted its cause from loudspeakers and plastered the city with posters. Employees were pressured by their bosses to scrawl anti-Evo messages on every available space. The power in Sucre still unquestionably resides with the old, wealthy elite and their church. Sucre hasn’t always been so far right, but it is a proud city and the anti-Evoists have tapped into this pride to turn the whole city against Evo’s La Paz-focused government.
On the Tuesday a free public concert was held at the stadium, which filled with angry, proud citizens. Sinister flags bearing medieval crosses flapped over the crowds as traditional Bolivian folk music echoed around the stark concrete stadium, mixing with pro-Sucre cries. There was something sinister about it all.
On Wednesday I finally moved into an apartment with two friends. By the next morning I was moving back out again, under the baleful glare of the landlady. Since we had first met her she had changed the price, removed some furniture, and decided she needed a signed contract and a deposit immediately (which aren’t really common in Bolivia). There were angry scenes when we left, and I felt that I was experiencing, in my own minute way, something of vitriol and bile of the stale old ruling class.
On Thursday I was convinced of the sinister, resentful side of the city. An enormous No rally snaked through the streets, dancing and chanting, waving their medieval flags and bearing banners demanding that the people choose between Evo and Jesus (or Yes and No to the constitution). Banners were burnt and fireworks echoed over the city, or misfired, causing the march to momentarily break apart to avoid a hissing projectile. On a podium in the main plaza, beside the cathedral speakers screamed into a microphone, hurling their fists into the air, inciting the crowd.
I had been uncertain of what to make of the new constitution, with its many articles as well as vagaries. Throughout the week, though, I became very certain that I was against the No campaign. All of the aggression and the threat of violence that was attached to January 25 and the referendum was stemming from the No campaign, from the powerful rabble-rousers and their facetious campaigns that tapped into the prejudices of the people. Children all over the city were given no flags and t-shirts, and people were exhorted to vote No if they wanted to protect their family, their church, their country, their freedom. The bands of bellowing youths, the figures on the platforms, the invocation of religion and nation and family, the aggressive rallies, the coercion by the wealthy and powerful; it all seemed a bit fascist.
From what I could tell, on the 25th people would be voting Yes out of a spirit of hope; hope for change and improvement in Bolivia. The people voting No would be doing so out of a spirit of hatred, or at best fear.
I spent the final days in the lead up to the referendum holed up in a dingy hostel, wondering what to make of the beautiful city turned ugly, and wondering that the city might do on the night of the 25th. The constitution was almost certain to be affirmed; the vehemence of the No campaign in the city couldn’t match the number of people all over the country who saw hope and a greater voice for themselves represented in the constitution.
On referendum day the sale of alcohol was banned, and virtually every business was closed. The streets emptied; the growl and honk of cars replaced by the click of bicycles. Sucre had returned over night to its peaceful, pretty self. Families wandered through the plazas, and played badminton in the street. The sky was blue and there was no sign of the usual impending storm. The assembling of groups of people was also outlawed for the day, but behind closed doors on patio and in courtyards gringos assembled to pass the anxious day. By the early evening reports were coming in that the constitution looked set to be approved by a 60% affirmative vote. In the central plaza of Sucre it was announced that the city had overwhelmingly voted against the constitution (70%), but it was of course a hollow cry of victory.
Later, long after dark, a small and triumphant band of Yes voters cascaded through the streets, beating drums, blowing on horns, dancing and waving banners. In the central plaza groups of young guys had been congregating, drinking of unlabelled plastic bottles. These were the dissolute detritus of the No rallies, spoiling for trouble. As the Yes supporters entered the main plaza they were hounded by opposition bullies, who hurled their insults, and when these couldn’t dampen spirits, hurled water, bottles, and anything else they could lay their hands on. A brief confrontation took place, but the Yes celebration, obviously outnumbered by an inflamed enemy, marched quickly away from the centre of town. The No thugs were left in possession of the main plaza, bricks in their hands, belts, wrapped around their fists, shouting insults into the night sky, and with nowhere left to vent their fury.
On Monday morning Sucre was more or less back to its usual sedate self. There were more television cameras and microphones about, but there was no other visible change. The churches still stood, families walked together. The country had not fallen apart, nor had it become a utopia of equality and justice. The changes of the constitution will come in gradually, and probably largely unnoticed. By midday on Monday I had moved into an apartment – the one I had wanted, owned by a couple obviously of the ruling class, but incredibly kind, gracious people who welcomed gringos into their lives.
After all the uncertainty of moving to Sucre, upon arrival I found myself sunk into a familiar realm. A week on a couch, uncertain of when I would be leaving it, the constant deferring of all other matters until I had found an apartment, the tiny, shrinking pool of available apartments, the long hours of walking, the fatigue, the HAGS and the churning bowels, the immigration office, the nervous wait for a visa renewal, the official government calendars and scuffed paint, the signed stamp in my passport, the vitaminicos too supplement the poor diet, the faltering Spanish, the maps and the getting-to-know the city. I had done it all before, and now I was doing it all again.
There were differences too though, enormous differences. I could write no article about finding the ruling class in Sucre. Sucre is ruling class. The people are prettier, whiter and better dressed. They are ruder and more confident. Their houses are grander. They are from Sucre (which they insist is the true capital of Bolivia) before they are from Bolivia. Sucre is ruling class.
And because it is ruling class, it hates Evo and all that he does or could represent. They especially hate his new constitution, but probably more because it is his than because of what it contains.
Sucre is also palpably Catholic, and this has some connection to its ruling class status. Sucre is where the old money of Bolivia dwells. The Catholic Church is where the old money of Bolivia chooses to display itself most ostentatiously. The city is full of churches, and the churches are full of shrines, altars, statues, paintings and other expressions of wealth and opulence. They are all very pretty, as is almost everything in the white city of Bolivia (it claims to be the white city of the Americas but this is a designation it must share with Arequipa in Peru, Popayan in Colombia, and probably others).
So in between the search and the drenchings, I wonder the city, and marvel that a rise in altitude of only 200 metres can take so much out of me. And when the storms are covering the city in dark, I snap pictures of the elegance and prettiness and arrogance of Sucre.
I still haven’t been robbed on this trip (or in fact on any). I survived Cochabamba without loss, and in my first days walking about Sucre, I found myself able to relax more and more. Sucre is an old and elegant capital. It lacks the bustle and crush of Cochabamba, which is essentially a market town (and contains apparently the biggest market in South America). The central market in Sucre is small and well laid out. There are no swells of human traffic.
So I find and found myself cautiously relaxed, at least in terms of theft-and-violence risks. But in my first days in Sucre another threat quickly rose to fill the void. With the new year begins the countdown to Carnival, celebrated at the end of February in many parts of South America (not just Rio with its flamingo-ladies).
During Carnival the young and the indolent amuse themselves by hurling water balloons at strangers. The majority of the assailants are young (I presume single) guys, who target all girls with the aim of seducing them through annoyance. The girls do fight back to a limited extent, and the really young pre-seduction aged kids get in on the act too.
While I am told that everyone gets drenched during Carnival (and some people get bruised when the greatest lotharios freeze the water balloons before throwing them), many people are also bombarded in the weeks and months before the real festivities. The streets of Sucre in January are already littered with the spent forms of lobbed balloons. Gringos are a popular target, along with girls. Gringa girls are particularly popular targets. There is no need to savour the reaction of a wet gringo. Doors open, balloons are thrown, doors are slammed. Sometimes I can catch no more than the brief blur of the arm of my assailant.
And so I have learned a new paranoia. I have learned and am learning to suspect doorways and ajar doors. I cast interrogatory eyes over balconies and second-story windows. I assume the worst of all groups of idle Bolivians. I scowl at anyone who looks twice at me, or points me out to their buddies. In these ways I have reduced the number of drenchings I have received. In my first days I was splashed almost daily.
All these precautions are of limited use, though, as the wet season rolls on and storms come charging over the city. Sucre is high enough that storms can coalesce over the city in almost no time, bringing great snares of lightning, and thunder with enough force to set off car alarms all over the city. When a storm hits there is no staying dry. There is only resignation and the subsequent wringing and hanging out of clothes, and the resumption of the cat-and-mouse played daily with the water balloonists.
One of the biggest moments in Evo’s presidential career is one week away. On January 25 Bolivia will vote in a referendum on whether to adopt the new constitution that Evo has been pushing as part of his effort to bring greater rights and representation to the majority of Bolivians.
The constitution and its 411 articles will be approved or rejected by a single yes/no vote by each Bolivian citizen. Contained within that one vote will be the question of whether the president of Bolivia should be able to serve multiple terms in office (currently he cannot), the degree to which land will be distributed from the current wealthy owners to the impoverished farmers, the accessibility of national health care and future of relations between the nation and the private enterprises that extract its natural resources. It is an awful lot of information to be bundled together into a single vote.
It seems likely that Evo will have the majority needed to see the constitution approved. His popularity has only improved since he took office in 2006. The ratifying of the new constitution would be seen as another major step forward for indigenous rights and as the path to a more inclusive nation.
Despite the seeming inevitability of the outcome, there has been plenty of campaigning by both the YES and NO factions. In Cochabamba before i left this was more sedate, with peaceful gatherings of people beneath an enormous SI! banner in the main plaza. Cochabamba is not Evo’s stronghold, but he does have ample support there.
Arriving in Sucre I arrived in a very different political climate. Sucre is one of the cities most opposed to Evo, it being the original capital and the repository of much of the old money of Bolivia, and thus one of the places that stands to lose most by Evo’s planned reforms. All over the city, in shop windows and in buses, on flags waved from cars and on t-shirts, NO is being declared. Posters place Evo beside Hugo Chavez and Augusto Pinochet. In the main plaza flags are flyig that read ‘with blood and deaths, NO!’. There are small rallies of pro-Evo supporters too, but they are isolated, dwarfed by the adjacent NO rallies, and have none of the vitriolic passion of the NO campaign.
Some of this fervour has been drummed up by misinformation. Advertisements have linked the new constitution with the elimination of religion, and with other catholic abominations such as abortion and homosexuality. Evo and his supporters have been throwing around terms like autonomy and independence, though what exactly their connection is to the constitution is unclear. They are just the buzzwords of Evo’s term.
There is something schizophrenic about this whole process of rewriting the constitution. The date of the referendum has been changed several times. The contents and scope of the constitution has been changed and re-negotiated as opposing parties grapple for an advantage. This has resulted in some very grey areas, such as exactly how much health care will be accessible and to whom. False advertising and the drawing in of every possible unrelated issue (from abortion to Evo himself) has confused the issue greatly. It is unclear exactly how much effect a new constitution would have on day to day life in Bolivia. Perhaps it will usher in the destruction of civilisation as we know it, perhaps it will bring about a Utopia of equality and Evoism.
Perhaps in a week or so sense will finally be made of all this. Or maybe it won’t. But it is going to be a week of great passion and great exertion for Bolivia.
